


Rolling With The Punches

by AuroraKant



Series: Whumptober2020 [25]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Ableist Language, And Be Sad, And The Birds Of Prey, BAMF Barbara Gordon, Banter, Barbara Gordon is Here To Kick Ass, Barbara Gordon is Oracle, Depression, Fighting, Gen, Swearing, alcohol mention, concussion, dick grayson is a good friend, mentions of the Batfamily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27209299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraKant/pseuds/AuroraKant
Summary: You didn’t live in Gotham for any amount of time without collecting some sort of trauma or another, and on her good days Babs understood just where her place in this big ugly mess called Gotham City was. On her bad days she decided to prove herself, rolling down second street at 11pm in search of an ATM.Or: Barbara is having a shit day, when she stumbles upon some assholes beating up a pair of defenseless civilians - Barbara was never good and standing by and doing nothing.Day 26: Migraine |Concussion| Blindness
Relationships: Barbara Gordon & Dick Grayson
Series: Whumptober2020 [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948651
Comments: 14
Kudos: 41
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Rolling With The Punches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [graysonsflight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/graysonsflight/gifts).



> Hello my dear readers!!!  
> Today with some Babs content!!! AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY KAY I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!! <3<3<3  
> I hope you guys are going to enjoy this!
> 
> Comments, Kudos and Bookmarks make me really, really happy!! <3<3

Despite what the general public might think of her, Barbara Gordon was anything but helpless. She had perfected the art of fighting while sitting in her chair as soon as she began climbing out of the valley of depression the _accident_ had thrown her into.

Hah, accident.

That’s what her dad called it on the days he couldn’t stand to look her in the eyes, eaten alive by guilt and misplaced ideas of duty.

Babs called it a fucking shitshow. The Joker had gotten to her, and on some days, even years after the fact, his laugh still haunted her dreams – but that’s trauma for you. And it wasn’t as if Babs was the only one touched by this life they all led.

She knew that Jason still woke up screaming sometimes, the same frigid grin following him into his sleep, and she was more than aware of the fact that Dick had his own monsters living in his head. So had Steph, Cass, Tim and Damian… so had Bruce, and so had her father.

You didn’t live in Gotham for any amount of time without collecting some sort of trauma or another, and on her good days Babs understood just where her place in this big ugly mess called Gotham City was. On her bad days she decided to prove herself, rolling down second street at 11pm in search of an ATM.

It was just… Babs had gotten sick of her own four walls, she had grown sick of the monitors and computers, the blinking lights and the smell of static. It certainly hadn’t helped that most of her friends, her team even, had gone dark for an undercover mission yesterday, and Babs was forced to sit in the Clocktower and wait.

She was shit at waiting.

Barbara Gordon wanted to _know_ , and she wanted to know _now_.

She had been like this before the Joker. Heck, she had been the most annoying kid on this side of the Atlantic. When she had been smaller, she’d often annoyed her father into telling her interesting facts about life, Gotham or his cases while they played basketball together. Babs had needled her dad during dinner, or when she was doing homework and he was actually home to check on her.

The only difference to now was the fact that before the Joker she had been able to do something. Batgirl hadn’t been a vengeance based fantasy of some lunatic who couldn’t deal with his trauma (sorry, Bruce)… Batgirl had been born out of the need to change the world.

Babs had jumped head first into action, had fought and bled and won… she had met other heroes, had fallen in love, had broken hearts, and had gotten her own heart broken along the way… but no matter what happened, or what information Batgirl found, she was ready to help and fight. She was there to do _something_.

Oracle on the other hand…. No. Babs was no longer half a year post the surgery that saved her life. She was no longer in the headspace of a scared young woman seeing her life disappear through the cracks of despair.

She was Barbara Gordon.

She was Oracle.

And Oracle was a damn good hero, maybe even better than Batgirl. Oracle knew everyone, had all the information, had the connections and the cloud and the power. Oracle wasn’t helpless…

On days like these it just felt a bit like she was.

When everyone went dark, when Babs couldn’t reach her friends, when the walls around her began to close in… Babs often chose to do something dumb instead. It wasn’t as if she was the only one in the superhero profession who liked to act out. Hell, Babs had been there for Jason’s return – she had seen what more extreme temper tantrums could look like.

And tonight, she just wanted to have some… _fun_.

But first she needed to get to that fucking ATM she was sure was somewhere around here. The streets weren’t quite empty yet. Gotham did have a nightlife despite what most media outlets made you believe – it was just a tad more dangerous than say the club scene Metropolis had to offer.

Second Street was dirty, but in the typical party street fashion: there were beer bottles broken on the ground, someone had been sick in the middle of the side walk, and almost all of the buildings could use a fresh coat of paint.

Babs cursed the other party goers as the wheel of her chair got once again stuck on an old paper cup, but she was stubborn. Frighteningly so, according to her dad, Bruce, Jason and Dick. Cass only ever called her “a force” and Babs liked that description much better.

She would get to that ATM and she would find a bar that was accessible for her, and then she would get wasted. Completely and utterly wasted. She didn’t want to remember this evening should tomorrow come – just something to cover up the ugly feelings brewing inside of her.

It was hard to love herself on days like this one… it was hard to stay positive and fierce and quippy, when you wanted to curse your existence and the golden cage you looked yourself into.

Oracle was a hero. A fucking amazing one at that. But right now? Barbara Gordon felt like a fraud.

It was a bad day. No matter how good she got, no matter how much she worked on herself – there would always be bad days. That’s just how trauma worked… even if Babs wished she could kick that soft and hurt part of herself until it vanished.

It was easier to feel good and competent than to feel like _this_.

She tried not to let the noises get to her, to ignore the leering and the catcalls. Her gaze was focused on the dim light she could see on the wall of a house a couple of dozen feet away. The ATM? It seemed as if Babs had almost reached her goal.

The drunken crowd of Second Street was a dumb but dangerous one. You had to be to survive in Gotham – but Babs was many things, and easily scared was not one of them. She pushed past a group of young men, all of them way past the early stages of intoxication, not caring as their eyes followed her. Let them stare, let them yell – Babs had a goal and she was set on achieving it.

And, hey, maybe if the mood was right and she found a nice bar…? Who said that Barbara would have to wake up alone tomorrow? Maybe she would find someone else to share her emptiness and her hangover with.

The glass of a broken bottle made a crunching sound as Babs rolled over it, finally reaching the ATM machine. She hated those things, rarely were they ever built in a way that allowed her to easily access them from her chair. That was part of the reason why she had come to Second Street: It was the closest wheelchair friendly ATM to her apartment.

And call her paranoid, but Oracle knew how easily traceable credit card payments were, so she went for cash whenever possible. Especially when she was about to do something irresponsible and fun.

One last glance into the direction of the young men – their group had thankfully moved on – and Babs pulled her credit card out of the pocket in her light coat. It was fall, and not yet frigidly cold, but a light breeze and the smell of rain made a jacket necessary. Soon the Gotham winter would come, and Babs would have to wear her heavy woolen coat while going out, even if it made moving her chair so much harder.

She leaned forward, the card ready in her hand, her chair positioned so she could reach the number panel and the slit her card had to get into. Her other hand found the escrima she had… _borrowed_ from Dick the last time he had passed out in her apartment and left his uniform laying around when he left again the next morning. She knew he wouldn’t miss it – and escrima were incredibly useful while fighting sitting down.

The ATM beeped and Babs focused on the task at hand: getting that sweet, sweet money.

It didn’t take long, and Babs was on her way again, card and cash safely secured in the inside of her jacket, her hands firm on the wheels of her chair. It was unlikely that she was going to find an accessible bar in Second Street, even if it was the party mile of Gotham. Luckily, this wasn’t the first time Babs went out for drinks and she was already calculating the fastest route to a small dive bar she had found a year ago, that wasn’t usually too full.

Maybe one day she would ask Steph and Dinah to take her out to a bigger club, the three of them together dancing and drinking and partying… but nights like this one, were solely for herself and the anonymity Gotham’s nightlife could provide.

The crowds were thinning by the time she neared the alley that would get her to the bar she wanted to reach, and it took a couple of moments for Babs to realize that the noises she heard weren’t coming from the people still lingering on Second Street, but from the formless shapes present in the dark alley.

Another look and… yes, they were the young men Babs had passed earlier. Babs couldn’t help herself, she drew in a sharp breath. They were beating someone up – Babs couldn’t see well enough in the dark to say anything for sure, but from the looks of it, it was a couple laying on the dirty alley floor.

It wasn’t the most horrific crime Babs had ever seen – not by a long shot – but it had been some time since Babs had last encountered violence as Barbara Gordon. Oracle watched over heroes as they bled and fought, Oracle had even fought herself quite often in the confinements of the Clocktower when danger broke through her defenses… but Barbara Gordon? She was a civilian, who rarely left her house.

Well… that was wrong. Babs had never once in her life been just anything.

“Hey! Stop that!”

Her voice barely wavered when she yelled. The young men, there were seven of them, all looked up at the same time, their eyes dark and dangerous in the low light. From what Babs could tell they seemed to be affiliated with one of the gangs working for Black Mask – they were all white, young and male. Roman Sionis was the only one who looked after shit like that when he recruited – some of his lieutenants did at least.

She should have called the police.

Babs knew that. She knew the protocols for witnessing a crime while in civilian identity. She knew that the recommended course of action was calling the crime in, waiting for the police – or Batman – to show up, and not to engage.

But Dick, Tim, and Cass weren’t the only ones that sucked at following this particular set of rules. Barbara had been Batgirl first, and she would always stay that idealistic college girl who jumped headfirst into danger.

Her hand found the escrima stick again.

“Who are you?” One of the gang members said, and his voice was heavy with alcohol. Babs was glad that there was still a safe distance between them, the stank waving off him probably too strong otherwise. It was a wonder that these guys were still standing at all.

“I am a concerned citizen who wants you to stop whatever the fuck you are doing.”

She sounded like Oracle just then, and for a moment Babs played with the thought that this could turn out alright. Maybe these guys would just turn around and run away, and then Babs would be able to help the victims and call an ambulance. But… no, the one who had spoken before – Babs decided to call him Drunk – was grinning, his teeth bared to the world.

He looked like an animal ready to bounce, and Babs knew that there was no way she would escape this situation without a fight.

“And what can a cripple like you do?” Came a leering voice from somewhere in the group of young men. Okay, now Babs was getting angry. She decided to call that one specifically Asshole, he deserved the name and whatever she would do to him next.

It never could have been said that Babs didn’t have a temper.

“I can do this!”

With this rather simple battle cry Barbara charged forward, escrima ready in her left hand, her right hand busy moving her chair. It was the power of surprise that got her into the midst of the crowd, but it was her own skill that allowed her to connect the weapon with the head of the guy she suspected to be Asshole.

He went down like a stone.

It got chaotic after that, the young men screaming as Babs turned her chair, ready to reign terror on anyone who dared to cross her path – or who dared to come in contact with her escrima.

One of the men tried to push her from her chair, but Babs had belted herself in. It would be enough of a hassle to check her legs for bruises later, even without the added scarps of falling onto the floor.

Another idiot, probably Drunk, was pulling her hair, and Babs twisted around, biting the hand before it could do real harm. The grip loosened, the taste in Babs’s mouth disgusting and vile. The first rule of wheelchair fighting Barbara had learned when she got released from the hospital, had been easy: _You have to be willing to fight dirty. People are not going to be nicer to you because they think you are weak, no, they will be even bigger assholes because they see you as easy prey – prove them wrong._

The scream of the guy getting her escrima pushed into his groin was payment enough.

Babs tried to stay on top of her surroundings, but the moving bodies were harder to keep track of than the pictures on her monitors. She couldn’t just change the camera angle to achieve perfect view while she was in the middle of a fight, and right now she was missing that omnipresence.

But that didn’t stop her from continuing to fight, her weapon aimlessly hitting every moving body part she could reach and find. It was _… exhausting_.

As much as it hurt Babs to admit, she had grown comfortable behind her screens, safe in her apartment. It wasn’t skill that was missing from her movements, no, Babs would never allow herself to be vulnerable in such an important aspect of the job – it was the strength to keep up her rhythm that was slowly seeping from her muscles.

Fighting was extremely taxing, the energy needed to uphold such physical strength almost unachievable. At least it felt like that to Babs – if this was over, and she survived it without needing to take a trip to the hospital, Babs would make sure to start another trainings program for herself. One that focused on stamina and endurance.

One of the men grabbed her arm holding the escrima, and a surge of panic raced through Babs, before she managed to throw a punch with her right arm, hitting the idiot directly between the eyes. It would only stun him, but Babs wasn’t truly fighting to win – she was fighting with the goal of pushing them back.

If the drunken gang members didn’t think her worth the hassle, they would just run away. She had to put up enough of a fight to ensure the safety of herself – and the victims.

But Babs could already feel her breath coming in short bursts, and her side smarted were one of the assholes had managed to land a lucky hit.

This scuffle would already be done for if Babs had her Oracle wheelchair, which was made for fighting and had a dozen weapons stored inside of it. But Barbara Gordon’s wheelchair was a normal, if expensive, sports wheelchair. She _could_ fight in it – she had proven so often enough – it just wasn’t ideal.

What also came into play was the fact that these absolute assholes were drunk out of their minds. Yes, it made their attacks uncoordinated and easy to evade, but it also ensured that they wouldn’t fucking stay down.

A normal brain when hit with an escrima against the head, decided to take a nice rest and reboot later – drunk brains just didn’t care for the pain, pushing the men to come back and get more of Babs’s fury straight in the face.

It was… it was just really exhausting.

Babs pulled in another breath and connected her escrima stick with the side of the man in front of her, the sound no longer really satisfying. She didn’t have the strength to do real harm anymore – but then again, these guys weren’t supervillains, they probably could feel pain and thought that her hits hurt. Or would think so as soon as the alcohol had vanished from their blood stream and they could feel the bruises layered over bruises.

It just wasn’t enough.

It felt like hours since she began defending the civilians – and where were they? Babs had lost control over the situation and she couldn’t spot the victims anymore, a rookie mistake, really – and yet it never seemed to stop.

From what she could gather, and it was hard to scan her surroundings when it was this dark and this dangerous, four of the men were now finally, permanently decorating the floor. Babs really hoped they were unconscious and not dead, but right now the more pressing focus was on the three men still in front of her.

She twirled the escrima in her hand, a dangerous – if slightly manic – smile on her face:

“And? Ready for some more?”

They looked at her… and – _thank god_ – they ran. They turned tail, escaping down the alley, leaving Babs and their buddies behind. A relieved sigh escaped Babs, and she allowed herself to relax against the back of her chair.

She would have to move in a moment, search and check on the civilians, make sure an ambulance and the police got called, think of an excuse for her fighting skills… all the normal boring standard stuff. But first she needed a moment to… breathe. To exist. To let the adrenaline and wariness wash away.

She wasn’t about to lie – this had actually felt great in a very fucked up way.

Yes, Oracle was the hero being the screen, the guy in the chair – quite literally – but sometimes it felt good to remember that she was Batgirl as well. And Batgirl could kick ass.

Maybe she hadn’t searched for alcohol tonight… maybe she had searched for danger.

She straightened up, it was time for business after all, when she noticed a shadow moving from the corner of her eye. One of the guys on the floor, Drunk the asshole, was making a move, and Babs… she noticed it too late, barely able to turn her head before the glass bottle connected with the side of her face.

The world swam in pain, and light – dark swirls and flashing sensations dancing through Babs’s vision. It was…

A groan escaped Babs, the fierceness of the fire encompassing her head unimaginable. She had… just… there was something…

It was hard to focus with the world turning, turning, turning, turning…

And it was even harder to withstand the black abyss pulling her under, when the screaming sirens rained hellfire upon the alley-

Babs let herself fall.

She never touched the floor.

The blinds of the window in her hospital room were drawn shut, and both Babs and the growing headache pulsing behind her eyes were thankful for that.

It was… Babs wasn’t exactly sure why she was in a hospital, and why she was awake.

Every bone in her body yelled and begged her to just go back to sleep, but something had woken her up and her curiosity wouldn’t let it go. Her eyes glanced around the room – a single room, probably Bruce’s fault – and she found flowers on her bedside table… and a sleeping vigilante.

Well, not a vigilante right now – it was Dick Grayson, whose head was cushioned on Babs’s legs, drool running out of his open mouth down onto the fabric of the blanket. It was disgusting. And weirdly cute. Babs hated it.

But it was easier to look at Dick than to face the pulsing pain radiating through her skull.

What exactly had happened? Her memories were foggy at best.

The smell of antiseptic was making her nauseous, and she was glad that Dick didn’t snore, because Babs had the slight suspicion that it would make her headache even worse. She knew the feeling cursing through her veins after all, even if she wasn’t sure just how she had managed to achieve a concussion in the safety of her apartment.

Maybe Dick could explain.

It took herculean efforts to raise her hand from its spot next to her hip, but Babs did it, ignoring how her muscles smarted as she used them. It didn’t take more than slightly touching Dick for the man to wake up – light sleep came with the territory of being a nighttime vigilante.

“What?”

His voice was awfully loud. Babs couldn’t help herself, her face scrunching up at the painful reminder that she had indeed managed to get herself concussed.

“Oh, Babs… sorry… I can be more silent? Better?” Dick whispered, and Babs carefully opened her closed eyes again. His face was swimming in and out of focus, the ugly feeling in her stomach bubbling up once more… but she nodded. This was probably as good as she was going to get:

“What happened?”

Her voice was scratchy and dry. Without waiting for her to ask, Dick grabbed a cup of water placed on the bedside table, the straw already placed inside. She was grateful as the fresh water flooded her systems, and clarity washed over her thoughts.

She still ached, and her thoughts were muddled, but everything just felt a bit clearer now.

“You don’t remember?”

Dick sounded surprised when he put the cup back on the desk, his movements careful and silent. Sometimes it was scary how much of the Bat was present in Dick – right now it was comforting.

She answered his question with a raised eyebrow, or at least she hoped she did. Of course, she didn’t remember. She had just said as much, and her head felt as if it had been run over by a horde of elephants.

Her eyes must have conveyed her message, Dick blushing slightly before he continued to speak:

“Um, my bad. I… you made national news, so I kind of forgot that you wouldn’t be aware of it as well…”

“National News?”

“Oh, yeah!”

Dick jumped up from his place next to her hospital bed – and oh, how much she hated these white walls and the smell of antiseptic – to search loudly for something in his bag. Babs winced, and she could hear his mumbled sorry, before his head reappeared in her field of vision, his expression sheepish.

“Sorry about that. It was deeper inside the bag than I had anticipated…”

With that Dick pushed the newspaper he was holding into Babs’s hands… it took some time for her eyes to focus, and she could feel her headache getting worse… but not even that could stop her from reading the headline of the Gotham Gazette:

“BATMAN WHO? WHEELCHAIR WOMAN NEXT HERO OF GOTHAM”

“What?”

Babs didn’t keep the scoff out of her voice, and she could see Dick shrug, an apologetic smile on his face:

“I know… the Gazette was never the best at sensitive headlines. But they aren’t the only ones running the story. The Washington Post ran an article about the robbery you stopped, and some big disabled rights activists wrote essays about the case.”

“The case…?”

Now that Babs was thinking about it, the headlines in front of her, she remembered what had happened… she had gone out at night, wanting to get drunk of her ass, only to end up fighting some hooligans in an alley because… because…

“What happened to the people getting beaten up?”

She had almost forgotten about the people she’d tried to save! Her attempt to sit up only ended with a wave of dizziness and a sour taste in the back of her throat… once she blinked the stars from her vision, she dared to look at Dick. There was no guilt or sorrow on his face.

Something inside of Babs relaxed. His voice was gentle when he spoke next:

“They are relatively fine. A broken bone or two, and a hefty scare… the couple are the New Jersey State Senators… that’s probably why the case got such traction. They escaped while you were fighting, and the woman called the ambulance and the police as soon as they reached the next street… you saved their lives.”

“And they saved mine…”

“From what I can gather… the guy only hit you and then he left the scene as well. But I am sure as hell glad that someone was there to tell the police where you were.”

And Dick truly did look relieved.

Babs knew why – the same reason she feared telephone calls as well. In their line of work, it was sadly rather common to get a phone call telling you a loved one was hurt, dead, or in danger. And it looked like Dick had gotten the call regarding her – this time nothing bad had happened. But every single one of them was afraid of the next time.

Her team would be just as shocked should they return from their undercover mission only to find Babs still in the hospital.

“How long was I out?”

“Not long, the concussion is only mild. You just… went to sleep rather quickly once the paramedics got to you. I am surprised you don’t remember the routine check-ups. They suck.”

“Maybe I just needed my beauty sleep.”

“But you are already beautiful.”

He had dimples when he grinned, Babs faintly noted, but she was too tired to really focus on that part. She wanted to sleep… and she wanted to read every single article written about what happened. She wanted to set up her Oracle network as fast as possible and trace the idiots that had almost killed her and some very important people.

Her instincts told her that there might be a case for her to find.

But first:

“Where is the rest?”

“Your dad is interviewing every single witness he can find, Tim is managing the Birds, Cass and Steph are in the cafeteria, and Bruce is doing PR damage control. I already texted them – sleep now, you won’t get another chance in the near future.”

“Hm…”

Babs closed her eyes, possibilities and facts and statistics flickering through her mind… she should really sleep even if her curiosity wasn’t sutured just yet. There were so many things to find out, so many mysteries to conquer… Babs couldn’t wait until she got released from the hospital. The tips of her fingers were tingling with the need for a keyboard and some heavy tech.

“Sleep, Babs. The case will still be here tomorrow. And your family and friends will be there as well.”

“You just say that because you want to continue drooling on my legs…”

“Hey! When have I ever not drooled over your legs – they are magnificent!”

There was joy in his voice, and Babs eased into the banter they had shared since they first fought crime together. A few years ago the comment might have hurt, or turned an open wound into a bleeding mess… but the Barbara Gordon of today? She only smiled, something playful and sleepy in her voice:

“You’re just envious.”

“Dang! You figured me out!” – Dick’s voice was boisterous, but after a moment of silence he offered something else as well: “Sleep well, Babs… I’ll watch over you.”

The last bit of tension ebbed away, his hand warm on hers… her eyes were closed, and with each deep breath she took, with each wave of pain medication and silence… Babs greeted sleep with open arms. She let the dreams carry her away.

They were nice ones. Warm ones. Safe ones.

There was time to be Oracle tomorrow.


End file.
